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Posts Tagged ‘manhood’

Alright people, I realize that it has been forever and a day since I’ve last blogged (literally) and I want to apologize from the bottom of my heart. I could come up with a whole litany of excuses as to why I haven’t typed any words in this word box thingy for the better part of three months, but most of them would probably be untrue and unconvincing, so what’s the point of even trying to come up with any? I’ll just make amends by posting this monster list of 69 New-fuckin’-Year’s resolutions for you’ll to chew on. How many other blogs out there in the cyberworld would provide you with this many resolutions, goals, hopes, dreams and pie-in-the-sky aspirations for 2009? That’s right, none of them would. Just me. So here you are, faithful readers, and here’s hoping to considerably more blog entries courtesy of The Crain Train in 2009.

69 New Year’s Resolutions For The Year of Our Lord, 2009 A.D.

1. Sleep in later. No more of this getting up at the crack-of-dawn nonsense. It’s not healthy.

2. Add a couple of new restaurants to my fast food lunch rotation. I’d like to see myself eating less Subway and a little more Wendy’s this year.

3. Oh, and some more Pollo Feliz.

4. Shave my beard with an actual razor that has an actual blade at least once without drawing blood and/or crying afterwards.

5. Break the land speed record…for gettin’ in a chick’s pants!

6. Adopt a Palestinian baby and an Israeli baby. Name them Pal and Izzy, respectively.

7. Come up with a new way to resolve long standing geo-political conflicts with some sort of competition involving babies.

8. Finally take that trip to Nigeria that I’ve been planning for the past few years.

9. Invent a Guinness Book of World Records video game.

10. Change my shoelace tying procedure from “over, under, around and through” to “over, under, in and out.”

11. Try to think of the name of the Nickelodeon game show that Mike O’Malley hosted before “Guts.” You know, the one with picto-grams and stuff.

12. Start smoking and then finally quit (and for real this time )

13. Get through at least one article about the AIDS crisis in sub-Saharan Africa without laughing hysterically.

14. Win an old school, one on one, no holds barred, east-side vs west-side rap battle.

15. Discover 40 species of microscopic, algae-dwelling proto plankton.

16. And kill them.

17. Finish at least 2 New York Times crossword puzzles each week.

18. Figure out a way to steal my neighbor’s issues of The New York Times.

19. Finally get out into my workshop and finish the dang entertainment center that the old lady’s been nagging me about.
20. Become a best selling author by learning how to fly-fish and then writing a humorous, anecdotal memoir about how learning to fly-fish is a metaphor for life.

21. Grow eight inches.

22. Write a kid’s movie about talking animals that live on the prehistoric super continent of Pangea.

23. Exercise for 45 minutes everyday after work, completely naked except for wristbands.

24. Put aside $20 from each paycheck to donate to the Ku Klux Klan.

25. Stop peeing in the shower, especially when I’m not taking one.

26. Start dressing in something nicer than just t-shirts and jeans when stalking high school girls.

27. Try harder to say “dork” instead of “dick,” because it sounds funnier.

28. Also “porno” instead of “porn.”

29. Clean out my closet, sell all the stuff that I don’t need or haven’t used for a few years and donate the money to the Ku Klux Klan.

30. Take a speed reading course and read the complete works of William Shakespeare in 25 minutes.

31. Cast an informed and well researched vote in this year’s U.S. Presidential election.

32. Train for the Boston Marathon and run in it while completely drunk.

33. Climb on top of the tallest building in the city and do a back flip off of it.

34. Spend about 5 minutes each night before I go to bed to pray for $40,000 and the power of flight.

35. Submit an entry for the next “Chicken Soup For the Christian Grandmother’s Soul.”

36. Go number 1 in twelve different states.

37. Go number 2 in six different ones.

38. Oh, and some more Del Taco. That stuff is pretty tasty (See #2.)

39. Start researching my family history and genealogy so I can be positively sure that I don’t have a drop of dirty, Lithuanian blood.

40. Enroll in a few night school classes at the community college…or just go on a sorority house panty raid.

41. Finish filling out all the necessary paperwork to legally change my name to Matty B. Exceptional.

42. Buy the lake house that I’ve always wanted and fill it with cocaine and tranny hookers.

43. Coach a basketball team of underprivileged, dyslexic, paraplegic middle school kids.

44. Bone down with each of their mothers.

45. Try to become the first person from Missouri to win the Nobel Prize…for gettin’ in a chick’s pants!

46. During a two week span, eat nothing but Hostess brand Chocolate Pudding Pies.

47. Get my ride “pimped,” my truck “tricked” and my house “flipped.”

48. Do some science experiments and see if I can’t find a cure for either rabies or scabies.

49. Stop what I’m doing whenever I see a school bus hurtling down the street out of control and save all the children that aren’t ugly.

50. Bone down with each of their mothers.

51. Overcome my debilitating speech impediment and record a Grammy winning duet with Chingy.

52. Try to get out of the house a little more often so I can go on a worldwide search for a lamp containing a sexy genie.

53. Adopt a dog from a Greyhound rescue service, dress it up in a tiny dog tuxedo and make it be my butler.

54. Make more of an effort to get involved in hilarious japery and/or tomfoolery.

55. Organize a local group of political activists to get all those damn Whigs and Free Masons out of city council.

56. Take a much needed break from my job as a trucker, make amends with my estranged son and win the national arm wrestling championship.

57. Stop neglecting my aging grandmother so I can horn in on some sweet inheritance action.

58. Bone down with her Hispanic nurse.
59. Work my way up the National Scrabble rankings, make it all the way to the finals and then play the word “BONEDOG.”

60. Re-watch Jurassic Park 2. Maybe it’s not as bad as I remember.

61. Start saving some money for retirement, put a down payment on a nice home and settle down with one of those San Diego Charger cheerleaders that I’ve been seeing on the TV.

62. Using only elbow grease, hard work and old fashioned American ingenuity, try and find a way to get drunk faster.

63. Rescue a chimpanzee from a zoo and train him to be a Kentucky Derby caliber jockey.

64. Dust off the old cam-corder and try to get myself on “America’s Funniest People.”

65. Actually take a stance for once in my life and speak out against the senseless genocide currently going on in Rwanda.

66. Become left-handed.

67. That episode of “Walker Texas Ranger,” where Walker needs to thwart a terrorist attack so he visits a kooky old inventor and then uses a jet pack to get to the top of a roof, I want to do that.

68. Get myself into good enough shape to make it onto a major league baseball team and then set the single-season record for bunts.

69. Blog more

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Chapter 1

Wild in the Streets

Carl Winslow was damn good police. Not a single man in the Chicago P.D. would ever dare to say otherwise. Carl Winslow was damn good on his best days and damn good even on his worst days. And having to put three rounds into a twenty year-old gangbanger, two of them in the chest and one in the head, shooting him dead right there on the street, would certainly put today in the category of one of his “worst days.” Carl had killed two men before today; one, a child molester who lunged at him with a knife while in custody; another, a man who hopped on a bus and stabbed three old ladies and then threatened to keep doing it until someone put him down. But this one was different. This one was the exact same age as his son, Eddie. This one might as well of also shot Carl in the chest twice and in the head once. This one could just about make a man quit the force.

This one was Steffon Urkelle, the alter-ego of his annoying neighbor, Steve.

Carl took a long drag off of his cigarette and tried to unwind in his living room easy chair. The dinner that his wife Harriette had prepared for him, a feast of collared greens and pigs feet, a feast that normally filled him with about as much pleasure as anything in the world could, was left on the dining room table completely uneaten and getting cold and rotten. Carl never thought a day would go by in which he wouldn’t want to eat one of his wife’s dinners, but the guilt that festered deep inside of him brought on by his deplorable act made it impossible for him to eat. Impossible for him to eat or to think straight or to love or to even want to live.

A deplorable act. That’s what was but it would never be officially described as so. To the Chicago Police department, to the men on the force, to the city courts and to everyone that would ever read about it in the newspaper page it will be considered a heroic act by a heroic poblic servant; a good deed carried out by a trusted law officer in danger, attempting to make the city streets just that much safer for the 5 million residents that walked them everyday.

But it was a crime of passion. Steffon had violated his daughter Laura’s body repeatedly and Carl knew this and for this reason Carl could not allow Steffon to live. Steve was an annoying kid with a piercing voice, and with a knack for almost weekly destruction, hijinks and japery, usually at Carl’s expense. His acts could drive a man to the absolute brink of sanity; but they could not drive a man to kill. Yet when Steve built that machine and transformed himself into the suave, debonair, lecherous, malicious and philandering Steffon, things changed. When Steffon tricked and decieved his way into his daughter’s life, things changed. When Steffon placed his manhood inside Laura Winslow’s body on the night of Saturday, November 19th, things fucking changed. And when Carl Winslow shot Steffon dead in cold blood the next morning and then altered the scene of the crime to make it disappear into one of Chicago’s thousands of drug-related killings, things changed forever.

But to Carl Winslow, there is only one thing that matters.

Family matters.

[to be continued…]

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